


How Things Were Supposed to Be

by theshimmydean



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: 8x23, M/M, Post-Season/Series 08, Sacrifice, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshimmydean/pseuds/theshimmydean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous Tumblr prompt:</p>
<p>"I figured you should know this, last night I had a dream that would have made a fantastic Destiel fic. Cas was still getting used to the whole "No more angel mojo" and team free will was in the middle of a huge fight against a literal ARMY of Demons and Dean got hurt, I'm talking 0 chance of survival hurt, Cas totally forgot he didn't have his angel mojo and rushed into the middle of the fight to try and heal Dean. I don't remember what happened next but you could turn this into a oneshot?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Things Were Supposed to Be

**Author's Note:**

> This took far too long for me to do because I procrastinate on everything. Even stuff I like.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

The spell Kevin deciphered was supposed to shut the gates of Hell. Metatron was supposed to help send the angels back to Heaven. And Crowley wasn’t supposed to escape and release more demons.

Life, Castiel realized, didn’t quite work that way.

That was the thing about living a short, mortal life; it never turned out to be quite what he imagined it was. Observing and watching over mankind was one thing and learning to walk in its footsteps was another entirely. To see a man and his struggle and strife was simple; at a distance, it was easy to see solutions to problems and map out a better way of living. To be thrown into a world that he had only over witnessed and then forced to live a life not unlike so many others was surprisingly difficult. That isn’t to say that his last few years as an angel had been easy.

His struggle with free will and morality and loyalty was hardly a walk in Joshua’s Garden but at least he had felt like he had some control over the chaos. Without his Grace, he had been worse than useless. If it hadn’t been for Sam and Dean, he surely would have been dead within weeks, maybe even days, of his Fall. Whether his death would have been caused by demons and any number of ghastly creatures, starvation, his own brothers and sisters, or maybe just a lack of a will to live. The Winchesters had saved him from all of that. They taught him how to use a gun: how to fire it, how to store it, how to clean it, and anything else they deemed necessary to know about weaponry. He and Dean sparred regularly, trying to sharpen the senses that had been dulled without his extra boost of Holy Juice. Sam taught him how to do laundry (it was only made clear after one disastrous attempt that he had to separate the whites from the colors) and even how to make Hamburger Helper when the brothers were too tired to cook or go out for food. Dean let Castiel borrow some of his old clothes until they found the time to buy him some of his own. Even with a bag’s worth of his own clothing, the ex-angel still found comfort in wearing one of Dean’s worn-out Led Zeppelin t-shirts. Yes, he owed much to the Winchesters, it seemed. They gave him food, shelter, training, and a reason to carry on. He finally had that true motive to continue living and, if he was entirely honest, it really didn’t have much to do with fighting monsters and saving the world. It had more to do with the green-eyed, freckled hunter whom he had come to care for more than anything else in existence.

That in itself was a depth that he and Dean didn’t breach often. Whatever was between them, it was expressed by actions, large and small, as well as brief and seemingly harmless conversation. Had Castiel been an angel, he doubted that he would have ever understood the meaning beneath Dean’s every word, lingering touches, and the way his eyes crinkled up in the corners when he really, truly, smiled. There was something about being human that allowed him to decipher the code and even communicate back. Their relationship, whatever level it appeared to be on, was far from perfect; experience and the time he spent with the Winchesters led Castiel to believe that nothing ever was. The mere thought that perfection didn't exist was a little hard to grasp (he had been an angel for a millennial after all) but he came to the conclusion that it was better that way; Heaven, or whatever remained of it, was an excellent example.

All of this raced through Castiel's mind, taking no more than an instant of his concentration away from Crowley's army of demons.

There was a theory that people's lives flashed before their eyes when they were in mortal danger and Castiel, for one, had good reason to believe it. All misgivings and certain things unsaid aside, he knew that his own life was at risk the moment he saw Dean fall to his knees. Castiel saw red for just a moment but when the hunter didn't get up, it started to fade to grey around the edges. As an angel, he would have had the mental ability to ponder on how emotions could change the view of the color spectrum but that was the farthest thing from his mind and he rushed forward. He just barely registered Sam  running in the same direction as he barreled through, taking out two demons in his rage. Lethal knife in hand, Castiel slashed his way through each body, relying on his instinct and the training that had been ingrained into him. Seeing the demons fall at his feet and seeing the fear in their eyes as they did reminded him what it felt like to have wings, what it was like to have untouchable power, what it was like to watch the turn of the earth and feel time itself race towards the end.

At any other time, in any other circumstance, the sensation of power would have excited him but Castiel didn’t have that luxury; Dean was his priority and nothing else, especially not his pride, could get in the way of that. Deep down, that was what his every decision had centered around. Even when he had been corrupted by a thirst for power or control, keeping Dean safe had always been at the very core of his actions, no matter how misguided or  tainted they may have been.

He reached Dean, fighting off demons at from every direction as they converged on the opponent’s weakest point. There was blood on his shirt and a slight hint of pain in his face but it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. Dean gave Castiel the OK and the ex-angel continued fighting. Sam stood on his brother’s other side, doing his best to keep the enemy at bay. Even Dean was getting off rounds of rock salt whenever he could. And for a moment, things were as they should have been. Their lives were far from perfect but this—the three of them fighting together—was right.

But here’s the thing about war and about life: things can do a complete one-eighty.

Castiel thrust his old angel blade through a demon’s and started to pull it back when he heard a gut-wrenching scream. Yanking the blade from the demon’s lifeless host, his thoughts automatically turning to Dean; he knew the sound of Dean’s voice, especially when he was in anguish. His eyes landed on Dean first, visibly unharmed and a temporary wave of relief washed over him. It was short-lived because half a moment later, he saw the reason for Dean’s scream.

Sam stood before them, the tip of a large hunting knife sticking out from between his ribs. Unlike his brother, the younger Winchester did not make a sound. His eyes were locked on Dean but were quickly losing focus and Castiel actually watched as the life left them. The knife was torn back, accompanied by the sick sound of tearing flesh and the scrape of metal on bone, and Sam’s lifeless body fell to the ground with a great thud. The screaming started up again. Most of it was jumbled and distorted but Castiel knew Dean was crying out Sam’s name. The moment Sam’s soul had left his body, Dean dropped every weapon he had and fell to his brother’s side.

Every muscle in Castiel’s body strained as he tried to keep the demons away from Dean and reach his friend. He wasn’t sure how many times he screamed the hunter’s name but it was as if he couldn’t hear anything. No matter how hard he tried, it was never enough; Dean was already too far gone.

And there were too many demons. Castiel could not possibly fight them alone. Even as an angel, the number he faced would have been nearly impossible without backup. He knew what was coming, deep down he really knew it, but nothing would prepare him for the moment a demon buried a knife in Dean’s chest, piercing his heart. The demon in question had been one of the smallest in the army, one of the many children that had been possessed in Crowley’s ambition to be rid of the Winchesters once and for all. It was no wonder that Castiel hadn’t seen her; she was quick and barely noticeable and lethal and only just out of Castiel’s reach. Everything seemed to slow down as he took it all in. For just a moment, he couldn’t feel anything; it was like he was simply a casual observer of the carnage before him. But then reality came rushing back and it was Castiel’s turn to scream.

“ _DEAN!_ ”

He didn’t recognize his voice, the pain in it, desperation. His own weapons forgotten, he fell to the ground where Dean was kneeling. When the hunter collapsed, Castiel caught him, holding onto Dean as he clung to Sam’s body. Castiel gingerly placed his hand on the spot where the knife protruded from Dean’s chest, staining his own skin with blood. “It’s okay, Dean. I’ve got you,” he said, using the words his friend had used time and time again. And in his madness, his need for things to actually be okay, he clenched his jaw and tried to summon all of his strength at once. Like he used to when he would heal.

Only this time, there was no strength there, no healing to give.

Dean looked up at Castiel, like he was struggling to focus on his face. His mouth opened and his lips moved as if to form a word: _Cas._ But there was no sound and before the word even finished, Dean was still.

Castiel didn’t move. He was frozen, still holding Dean in his arms. Every fiber of his being was screaming because this wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to watch Dean die young. Not this time around. They were supposed to grow old together, the way best friends, or whatever they were at that point, always do. He was supposed to watch all those movies that Dean loved and watch him get excited about his reaction to them.

He was also supposed to actually feel pain but when a demon picked up Castiels blade and buried it in his chest, he didn’t feel a thing. Not that it mattered anymore; he didn’t have any reason to feel anything. He didn’t have a reason to fight. Those were his last thoughts as he lay there, dying, still holding what was left of his best friends.

_This wasn’t how things were supposed to be._


End file.
